Monday Morning Commute: Hairy Palms, Ruined Shirts.
And then there was one! What’s up, interfelons. How the fuck are you doing? Caffeine Powered here. Ridin’ solo on the fucking Mothership. Holding down the Monday Morning Commuting and everything. Rendar, that pig fucking anarchist is currently on the left coast. Motherfucker is in San Diego, living life. Do you think he wrote MMC before heading off? Hell no! He was intending to ghost ride this son of a bitch into the ocean! Well, I grabbed the fucking wheel. Not that I wouldn’t have done the same.
[edit: rendar actually texted me this morning about writing it, proving that he is infinitely more responsible than me.]
So here I am filling in.
I used to run this fuggin’ column. Then the grand irony hit; when I finally had real life adult bullshit to do, I couldn’t write about my means for escaping it. No escape!
Monday Fucking Morning Commute.
The thread where we discuss what various arts, items, pornographic fetishes we’re digging this week.
Fuck you, let’s dance.
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Reading. Waiting For. | DMZ Trade #9.
There isn’t anything I wanted more this week than to snag the ninth trade paperback of DMZ. When I finally rolled up into Shitty Comic Store X yesterday in hopes of snagging it, they were sold out. I had the audacity to be aghast. Dumb ass right here, no? I need this shit. Every moment my mind-tendrils are disconnected from the fictional world of Matty Roth’s most unrighteous adventure, my balls ache with lament.
While we’re spittin’ text bombs about what I’m diggin’ on in the textual universes I inhabit, I should point out that S.H.I.E.L.D. #6 was fucking outstanding.
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Mesmerized By. | Odd Future’s Fallon Performance.
The Brothers Omega have been sweatin’ OFWGKTA for a couple of months now. We were behind the curve when it come to being on the ground floor, but still ahead of people whose first taste was being horrified on national television. It’s hard to describe why I love Odd Future so much. They’re misogynistic, hateful, crude. However, at the same time they’re raw, passionated, and fucking insane. Sometimes I can’t tell if love what they’re doing more than I actually love their music. It’s close.
But a bunch of vulgar kids storming hip hop and doing whatever the fuck they want is excellent.
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Playing. | A Fucking Shitload.
My playing habits are smashed into a zillion experiences these days. I’m a fractured mess. I’m playing through Dead Space 2 for a second time. This game is like the original, but superior in every way, save for a bit on the cheeseball side. On top of that, there’s the occasional three hours wasted on Black Ops. Oh yeah!, and I’m also playing Borderlands. My attention is spread thin across all these titles, none of them getting the love they deserve.
When I’m feeling particularly self-hating, I’ll try and play some of the original Mass Effect on the second hardest difficult. Hardcore? I think? I’m not getting anywhere particularly fast in any of these games. I don’t give a shit, though! So long as they’re singing and dancing and keeping me from focusing on my continual corporeal rot, who the fuck cares.
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Listening. | Protest the Hero, Scurrilous.
Protest The Hero is one of my favorite bands, and the internet is a leaky place. Coming across their new joint a smidge early, it was something that I couldn’t pass up. Good god damn. These motherfuckers continue to grow musically, and we’re all the better for it. I’ll be spinning this son of a bitch on the various techno-means. My intergalactic pod, my personal computer. Et cetera.
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What are you fuckers enjoying this week?